


Kommandant

by onewingedbutterfly



Series: Kommandant [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Prisoner of War, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewingedbutterfly/pseuds/onewingedbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd forgotten about her -- the pale girl with green eyes and messy waves upon her shoulders... That is, until Charles read her name, with the intention to recruit...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kommandant

_Kommandant Markus was a brute of a man; portly and stout, he reminded Erik of a pig – he reeked like one, as well…_

_Thus he pitied the thin waif of a girl following after the unpleasant kommandant – the pale girl with green eyes and messy waves upon her shoulders…_

_“*This* is your favourite, Markus?” Kommandant Hans commented, bringing forth his own by the wrist; Kommandant Hans’ favourite was of rare beauty, her body ripe with age – but her eyes were dull… dull like death…_

_“We are not all fortunate like you, Hans,” Kommandant Markus snorted, slightly indignant; then he grinned, pulling the girl closer, “Then again, don’t you recognize her, Hans? Take a long look at her and see…”_

_Kommandant Hans stared—and startled, “S-she—she’s the French Ambassador’s daughter?”_

_Kommandant Markus bellowed with raucous laughter, “Ja – to think that the idiot fled so quickly, he left this one behind…!!”_

_“Her file reports she is mute,” his own Master, Herr Doktor, interjected, filling everyone’s glass with cheap whiskey; Erik shuddered with cold – for he has seen what it does to these men, seen what it’s like when they are hard and violent…_

_“… and completely obedient,” Kommandant Markus added, pulling the girl into his lap; she flailed with panic, but stiffened with fear – his hand moved under her skirt, distinctively between her legs—_

_“How convenient – a pet who cannot scream…” Herr Doktor sighed, patting Erik on the head; he suppressed a grunt – it made him feel small… smaller than his lanky frame… if only he could utilize his new found abilities to strangle his torturer—_

_A rustle of movement, a strangled gasp; Kommandant Markus grinned maliciously as the girl in his lap clawed at his jacket sleeves, sobbed pitifully at his shoulder—he would make her come undone – right here, right now – in his office with four others…_

_Erik knew he should look away; it was disgusting, the things the men did when they were drunk and aroused – he himself had never been exempted, if only his was experimentation instead of exploitation…_

_But the flooded eyes twisted in pain – and he’d recognize pain anywhere, in any form; he barely dared to breathe as he watched her shudder brokenly, then went boneless with exertion…_

~*~ 

“You know her then?” 

For all intents and purposes, Charles was a wonderful, wonderful companion – but so *naïve*…!! Erik put up with him only because he needed the man. 

“Briefly. I recognized the name.” 

He reasoned this as half-truth. He had learnt of her first name, not of her last name; no one had last names in the war. 

“Where and when did you meet?” 

~*~ 

_He found her unceremoniously dumped outside Kommandant Hans’ private rooms; her dress was torn, and there were fresh bruises on her shoulders and back… Her hair hid her face, but not the sounds; she sobbed quietly, and for a strange moment, Erik suddenly realized crying didn’t require vocal chords…_

_Herr Doktor would be passing soon, and he needed to clear the hallways; but how should one remove a person trapped in their own misery without them panicking and screa—_

_Oh…_

_He thought to fetch her something from the hall cupboard first; he picked a small gray sheet, the ones used by midwives during a birthing. He hoped it wouldn’t be missed. He took a ragged towel to wet, too._

_She looked too young. He recollected snatches of conversations between Herr Doktor and Kommandant Markus – that she had been only eleven when she’d been taken. Herr Doktor had recorded his 400th day of captivity recently, meaning that it had been a little over a year…_

_If he could’ve, he would’ve vomited all over the floors; she was twelve and she was being used as a favourite – a whore. He had long understood the reason for his imprisonment – the numbers on his arm itched as if alive; but she was French, perhaps catholic—_

_“EVANGELINE!!”_

_She struggled to her feet as Kommandant Markus barreled down the dimly-lit passageway towards her; he snarled as he looked her up-and-down – the split lip, the mottled rope-burns, the dried stains on her skirt…_

_“Was Kommandant Hans satisfied with you?” he huffed; she nodded stiffly, holding out three fingers (one bent too far). He snorted gruffly, “Good, at least you’re good for something, you stupid cow…” He grabbed her by her wrist, dragging her stumbling towards another room, “Contracts decided, let’s you and me celebrate – I know how you like it rough—”_

_Erik wished he could’ve choked the Kommandant, too – the iron cross around his fat neck would’ve been sweet irony…_

~*~ 

“Her gift is of very little use to us,” Erik spoke suddenly as they made their way back to the hotel; the subway car was near empty, but there were enough people inside to make him feel slightly claustrophobic. 

“What does she do?” 

Charles must’ve been fortunate enough to have never been inside a Jewish Transport; sometimes, he had nightmares of being trapped in those trains, being pressed to the walls, being drowned by water or frozen by cold or breathless by compression— 

“She projects emotions through music…” 

“Ah, that explains the Academy…” 

~*~ 

_More Kommandants arrived to take their place; some had brought their favourite with them – here, a Polish woman, there, a Swiss… No one owned a French girl or a Jewish boy, which made them stand out in the crowd…_

_Not that he was a favourite – no, wait, that wasn’t wrong; he *was* Herr Doktor’s favourite, but he was not a whore… Herr Doktor’s whore had been left at homebase, serving as a maid; Herr Doktor had no use for Maria and sex when he had Erik and science…_

_To celebrate their gathering, there was entertainment to be had; the band was an assortment of captives from different nations, having learnt German music from torn music sheets and a scratchy gramophone. Then Kommandant Markus presented her in a patterned dress (two-sizes too big) and white gloves (once white – now off-white and spotted yellow) and told them that she would play a piano piece…_

_Erik had seen her several times now; during the day, she looked lost… during the evenings, fearful… during the nights, broken… He’d given her antiseptic and salve for her cuts once; she nodded and patted his face with thanks – before she shoved him out the door when Kommandant Markus hollered for her to come back to bed…_

_She looked different now, at the piano – softer, almost pretty… He could suddenly see her as an average twelve-year-old at a recital, caressing the black-and-white keys… The spell was scarcely broken when she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath—_

_—and played the most beautiful song on earth…_

_It was almost gut-wrenching… The memories surrounded him like a tide – his mother, his father, the farmhouse, the lake, their first Hanukkah, his cousin’s Bar Mitzvah, singing on the Holy Days…_

_And then suddenly, it was over, the images receding into his head; he staggered outside the doors with his mop, desperately trying to compose himself before anyone saw…_

~*~ 

“You aren’t the first mutant I’ve met.” 

Charles nodded absent-mindedly, as if the task of walking and map-reading was the most strenuous mental exercise. He supposed a telepath may find it strenuous, having to do something physically when one could be concentrating on a dozen mental challenges. 

“First one to be *in* your head, though?” 

Erik didn’t know how to answer that. 

~*~ 

_Herr Doktor said he was special because he was a ‘metallokinetic’; Herr Doktor declared her special too, branded her an ‘audial hypnotist’… But Herr Doktor labeled her gift worthless—insignificant, hence did not bother with her; he warned Erik against getting too close, as if her weakness was contagious…_

_And Erik obeyed, if only at the beginning; because, despite Herr Doktor being a Monster, at the least, he was a Monster who cared – who else would take in a Jew? Clothe him, feed him, teach him? He reasoned, of course, this was only a temporary arrangement – once he mastered his abilities, he’d kill all in his way…_

_… he needed a plan…_

_… he needed to be conscious, first…_

_He groaned; the welts on his back flared to life, choking him; Herr Doktor had commanded him to lift a water tank from the roof to the ground… It had been empty, but it was a bulky square, and his starvation made him delirious; Herr Doktor summoned for a whip to strike every 5 minutes as punishment for his delay, as incentive for him to work harder—_

_He must’ve passed out; it was night, and he knew he had missed dinner. He was in pain, yes; but the crux of it was, he was ravenously hungry… The sting in his back dulled to a manageable throb, but the hollowness of his belly ached unbearably – nothing but to wait for morning—_

_She tapped the side of her bed – she had been there all along; eyes darting to her, he followed the length of her hand. Stale bread, possibly days old – but it was food, and it was all they were allowed…_

_Still, it looked to be all her rations – and as famished as he was, Erik did not think it right to cheat her of her only meal. He buried his face into the thin pillow, “I don’t need it.”_

_She tapped the side of her bed again – he frowned at her; she gestured to say she couldn’t eat, moved to touch her forehead, then her bandaged neck-and-shoulder… She waved the crusted loaf at him._

_He took it meekly and gobbled it up, licking the crumbs off his fingers and the bed. He turned to her only to find her asleep, a hand shielding her eyes._

_“Thank you…”_

_[You’re welcome.]_

_He hadn’t been sure if he’d dreamt it or not…_

~*~ 

“… you should meet up with her,” Charles was saying over his dinner, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing to suggest. 

“This isn’t exactly a high-school reunion,” Erik mumbled tersely, wondering if it were rude of him to toss his own plate at the cook. 

_Yes, very rude – would you like mine instead?_

He glared balefully at his partner for initiating a telepathic conference. _Stay out of my head, Charles…_

“What I meant to imply was,” the Englishman conceded, speaking once more, “Is that you should assure her that she isn’t alone – not as a mutant, but as a survivor of the war… 

~*~ 

_Kommandant Markus was Herr Doktor’s superior, hence where Kommandant Markus went, so did his favourite; he supposed it was a good thing, for it allowed their charges to work together at times._

_He swept the music room last, because he knew that was where she hid during the day, to recuperate for the night… She had spread a bundle of sheets over the chords to muffle the sound, muting it to near silence; one had to be near her to discern anything at all…_

_In some ways, he sought her out for comfort; her songs could quiet the demons in his head, made him silent and still… It was a selfish obligation, though; he took from her gift, but could give nothing in return – it bothered him to no end…_

_A crumpled note was handed to him; it looked like scavenged toilet paper._

_[Hello.]_

_He turned to look, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Luka’s quarters tonight?”_

_She looked away, and he felt a little guilty; she certainly did not need reminders, what with the bets they took written on her forearm. They stood on the make-shift stage in awkward silence. He sighed, “I’m sorr—”_

_[Thank you. For bandages.]_

_He stared at the cursive. It had been some time since he read anything that wasn’t typed by a typewriter, and his German was shot. She referred to her nape; the wound had scabbed over only days ago. His blood had boiled over at the sight of a butterfly branded into her skin—_

_He flinched when she touched his arm; he shouldn’t allow her to touch *it*… But she did not recoil from him like the others had when they found out he was a Jew; her fingers traced the numbers as if remembering how to write…_

_[Name?]_

_“… Erik… My name is Erik…”_

_[Friend Erik.]_

~*~ 

“I do not think she would want to see me.” 

Charles must’ve had a sweet tooth – he’d ordered himself a decadent chocolate cake from room service, savoring it as he lounged on a chair in his dressing gown. But he was generously benevolent as well – Erik had asked why anyone would’ve wanted soured curd in a meringue…?! 

“Just the knowing that you’re safe?” he mumbled around his dessert spoon, “If I were a friend and I’d lost you during those… dark days… *I’d* want to know if you’re safe…” 

~*~ 

_He’d caught her in the music room, practicing a song. She hadn’t played more than two verses when she twisted violently to one side to retch upon the floor. She eyed the contents by her chair and began to cry, banging on the keys suddenly—_

_He cursed his long limbs, all elbows and knees; she gasped as she heard him move a chair. Then she sighed soundlessly, looking relieved. He went to the back room to retrieve the mop…_

_“How many times this week?” he groused as he wetted and re-wetted the area, hopefully having gotten all of it off the floor; he waited for her to answer._

_A note, a used postcard this time, [Four.]_

_Erik wasn’t stupid – he knew that very well. If he had anything to boast in his fourteen years, it was that he could learn anything if he put his head to it…_

_Evangeline, as far as he could tell, wasn’t stupid either. She knew what the vomiting meant; she looked miserable knowing…_

_When he was miserable, his mother would sing him a lullaby. It was a hymn from the old Synagogue, but Mama had changed the words around to suit him, and only him; a small comfort on rainy nights and sick days…_

_“Play a lullaby…” he said._

_She frowned, [From where?]_

_“Anywhere,” he shrugged, “From… France, maybe? What did your Mama sing?”_

_She moved to touch a key; it ‘pinged’ pleasantly, though a little high. Two keys, then a chord, then a half-remembered melody… He was used to the images in his head now, used to seeing his memories played out; what he wasn’t used to was seeing her in his head as well: flying kites, playing dolls, eating croissants under a pier, playing hide-and-go-seek with her schoolmates—_

_It faded to fuzzy darkness as she dissolved into tears. He watched helplessly from the edge of the piano chair, unsure what he should do. He wanted to comfort her, but did not know how; what was she to him? What was he to her? Did it matter what it meant to either?_

_“EVANGELINE!!”_

_She scrambled to hide him, tall as he was, behind a make-shift theatre curtain; she sat down just as Kommandant Markus burst into the room. Her masterpiece faltered badly as he made his way towards her, a jumble of keys when he slammed her head against the wood. A frantic scuffle that had her bent over her cherished ivory, a sickening slap upon her skin as his belt buckle loosened and zipper lowered and—_

~*~ 

“I do not think she would want to see me,” he repeated, settling himself to sleep. 

Charles sighed; he did not know Erik very well – but he *did* know that Erik did not speak of the past fondly… Yet, he wondered if his friend noticed how much he’d invested into this staccato conversation since the afternoon at the Academy. 

“Do *you* want to see her?” 

~*~ 

_Kommandant Markus raged in fury, having found out she was with child; he sneered to say he cannot be the father – after all, she’d spread her legs for nearly every man in the vicinity (never mind that they had all been on his orders)… He dumped her outside his door and left her there for nearly a week…_

_Herr Doktor took some interest in her at last, one night coaxing her with a cup of bitter tea. He detailed how she was special – Erik struggled not to flinch, chided himself later for feeling jealous. Herr Doktor gathered her into his arms and told her he would look after her until she came to term…_

_Erik wanted her to run, but she spoke plainly, [Run where?]_

_“Anywhere – just not here,” he whispered urgently; for he had seen what Herr Doktor did with pregnant girls, the last vivisection still fresh in his mind. He had to warn her of what was to come, “I’d make a hole in the fence, and you could—”_

_[They’d shoot. I’d die.]_

_Then a mirthless smile, [That’s good, no? To die?]_

~*~ 

“You do not know what we’ve been through, Charles,” he bit back acidly, near losing his temper. Her name brought… a jangle of emotions he did not know how to name, let alone process… 

The lights clicked on; the telepath could be an insufferable saint, sometimes, “Then tell me about it, I’d listen…” 

~*~ 

_Herr Doktor had taken her away some time during her sixth month, and Erik saw nothing of her for weeks. When he dared to ask, he was locked in a basement for believing he could ever make a friend…_

_“Being with her makes you weak,” Herr Doktor jeered, patting his head; he shivered with disgust – always, always that condescending, patronizing tone… Herr Doktor snapped the last lock before he turned to leave, “Make the locks turn, Erik – I want you to show me what a good boy you are…”_

_… in truth, he believed her dead…_

_Thus, he froze when he saw her again – though, she was much changed since he saw her last… Motherhood had made her belly swell, looking unnaturally heavy for her skeletal form; green eyes looked dull in the laboratory lights, features haggard and tired from the burden of two…_

_“She is ten days overdue,” Herr Doktor informed, snapping his gloves on; Erik panicked, for it bode ill-will when Herr Doktor readied himself like this, “It is time we intervened…”_

_“Why am I… here…?”_

_Herr Doktor chuckled darkly, “Final comfort, perhaps? I thought to reward you, dear boy…” To the girl—Evangeline—he growled, “Get to it, then…!!”_

_She—Evangeline—shook to life, crawling on all fours towards him; Erik could not help thinking she looked like a wraith… But her eyes were sad, though bright with unique beauty; she mouthed one word, [Sorry.]_

_He had never known the pleasure of a woman – rather, he thought he would never want it, watching the heinous acts of men against women… But Evangeline’s hands were gentle as she coaxed him to half-firmness; and Evangeline’s mouth was sweet to take him, lathering his length to slickness…_

_“E-Evangeline…” he whispered, wondering what she was doing, and more importantly, why. What did Herr Doktor intend for—oh…!! *OH*…!! He canna think he’d—_

_She released him duly, clambered onto his lap; he did not know how to touch her, thus he did not touch her at all… She groaned as she impaled herself upon his maleness, all warmth and shallow tightness – he hissed with alien sensations… She rocked mechanically against him, making him grit and grip the arms of the chair he had been given; she whimpered when it didn’t seem to be enough – for who? He did not know… Faster, deeper, harder—_

_She whinnied against his neck just as he seized up, feeling as if something inside him snapped and he jerked reflexively against it. She whimpered as she looked down to his lap, and he understood; Herr Doktor had wanted her undone only to loosen her cradle – Erik had only been an instrument to his goals…_

_“W-wait…!!” he choked as they dragged her away from his lap; she clung onto him, but learnt to let go. Perhaps she knew she was going to die either way, and dying was not such an unpleasant fate in the light of her predicament… She caught his jaw and smiled serenely,_

_[Goodbye, friend Erik.]_

~*~ 

The worst thing about Charles is that he is a telepath. 

The best thing about Charles is that he is a telepath. 

The dichotomy of it made Erik’s brain hurt; but at the end of the day (or night)(or day)(most definitely night)(morning?), he reasoned that Charles was… partially… maybe… significantly more than averagely… right… 

“… but I haven’t seen her in years…” 

“Oh, my friend, therein lies the best part…” 

~*~ 

_Herr Doktor had fled the moment he knew—he *knew*—Erik was no longer afraid of him. When he knew—he *knew*—Erik had become his own Master. Erik could unlock locks, open doors, crush weapons all with a thought… Nothing could stop him now—_

_Only a tattered dress in the backroom made him pause, the bloodstained hospital bed and mangled corpse of what-should-have-been a baby too much to bear…_

_He knew without doubt that she was gone…_

_(if only he knew *how* she had gone…)_

~*~ 

“This isn’t a good idea…” 

“Trust me – I’ve enough money to earn my own auditorium here…” Charles was saying, walking briskly to find the administration office and preferably the Dean. At the roll of his eyes, he relented – but only just, “I’d offer a sizeable donation in honour of your musician, and while we work out the kinks to this, you’ll be escorted to meet with her…” 

“… what should I say?” 

“Whatever comes to mind, my friend…” 

“… she could hate me…” 

“Then I’d save my chequebook to the last minute…” 

“Charles…!!” 

“Yes, yes, that’s my name – don’t wear it out so soon, will you?” 

~*~ 

It is the camp theatre all over again – with her back turned to him, her hands on the piano. He watched from the doorway, listened… He does not know this song, but it is beautiful – perhaps more moving than the first song she played all those years ago; he wondered what it was like to step into its spell once more… 

The song changed its cadence, turning dark and hauntingly furious. Ah, this was an emotion he understood, thus he willed himself to be swept by its dangerous claws; he’s transported to every kill he’s undertaken, every sin he’s committed, if only to get himself one step closer… one step closer… 

He knew he did it to avenge his parents… perhaps himself… 

He pondered if he ever included her in the list… 

The keys clattered to a halt, the piano chair scraped noisily against the floor; Charles warned that sometimes, a psionic can sense when he or she is being traced – a featherlight touch against their gift… 

It was time. 

He descended the carpeted steps towards the stage; she looked… good, despite the years… Slender and lithe, made to look longer in her long-sleeved blouse and long skirts; he understood her eager need for modesty… As he neared, he looked into her eyes – those emerald green eyes – and recognized a friend… 

She choked back a sob; ah, she had, too… 

He stood at the front of the stage, looking up at her; she knelt at its edge, holding out a trembling hand. He thought he heard it, but there was no sound – only of her lips moving, making the words, 

[Erik? Erik…!! Erik, Erik, ErikErik*ERIK*—!!] 

And then she was broke completely, cradling his face and holding on to his head and kissing his forehead and smiling against his nose and laughing against his skin— 

It was more contact than he was used to, but he had denied her so much, he wouldn’t deny her this; he could not hold back the slight tremor in his voice, “… hello, Evangeline…” 

~*~ 

“How much did you offer them?” 

“Five hundred…” 

“Dollars?” 

“Thousand.” 

He faltered a step, “C-charles…!!” 

The telepath touched his temple and replayed a single image: of two friends across the sea sharing a single moment – forehead-to-forehead, smile-reflecting-smile, tears mixing upon entwined hands… 

“Worth every penny, my friend…”

**Author's Note:**

> (i'd like to think the time for this should fit during Erik-and-Charles's recruitment-roadtrip; I've tried not to disturb the movie timeline too much, for fear of angry mobsters storming my door...)
> 
> (there isn't much Erik/Charles intimacies here, but if I could expand this, I'd explore it, I think...)
> 
> (31 may update :: minor errors edited)


End file.
